"You twist my words. I am an awkward man. I mean that I care not for the company of women."
"You owe some reparation to your niece for your harshness of yesterday. It is the least you can do to tell her that you are sorry. I have already said to her on your behalf that your mind was worried by the unexpected news of the junction of the two Archbishops, and although that is no excuse for a grown man, still I think I persuaded her it was. She will, no doubt, forgive you, little as you deserve it."
"Forgive me!" cried the Count, angrily.
"Aye. We all need forgiveness, and I judge you are not so free from blame that your statue will be erected in the valley as the Saint Heinrich of your day. Come, my Lord Count, be a bear to your enemies if you like, but a lamb to your friends, whose scarcity you but last night deplored!"
"The Countess Tekla has refused to see me; she barred my own door against me."
"And quite right too. She is a girl of spirit, and worthy of her warlike ancestors. Therefore, the more proud should you be that she consents to take you by the hand this morning."
"But does she so consent?" asked the Count, dubiously.
"Come to the tower and see. Large minds bear no malice. We will signal to you when the meal is ready."
Rodolph found there was more difficulty in persuading Heinrich's wife to be one at the table with her lord, than there was in winning Tekla's consent, but at last all obstacles were removed and he escorted the ladies up the narrow winding stairs. The Countess Tekla was in unexpectedly high spirits, and she admitted to him gaily that she had been at her wit's end to know what they should do for breakfast, as all attendants had gone, and her uncle had shown no anxiety regarding their substance.